


Sing Me to Sleep

by Walpger



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Relationship, At least that's how i see it, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale has a lot of feelings, Crowley Sings (Good Omens), Crowley deserves a medal, Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Fluff, Holding Hands, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), It's kind of Gabriel's fault, M/M, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), RIP, Singing, Sleep Deprivation, Sleepy Boys, Sleepy Cuddles, Smol Aziraphale, Supportive Crowley, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens), Zira doesn't know how, angels and demons need to sleep I guess, but like lowkey, interpret how you want, they're bad at feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 14:48:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20259850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Walpger/pseuds/Walpger
Summary: “I, uhm,” Aziraphale said, voice soft, small, weak. He cleared his throat, bolstered up as much pride as his divine being contained and closed his eyes.“I never learned to sleep.”Silence. Heart-wrenching silence.“You what?”Aziraphale doesn't know how to sleep, which is an issue because boy does he need it. Crowley's something of an expert on the whole thing and is desperate to help his angel, although he's not totally sure how.Smol Zira, loving Crowley, wholesome sleepy content for my favorite ineffable boyos because I really can't help it.





	Sing Me to Sleep

Aziraphale peered into his friend’s room. Crowley was asleep, which was to be expected as Crowley often slept at night. And it certainly _was_ night—almost three in the morning when the angel had last checked. Which made Aziraphale’s current predicament all the more inconvenient.

The angel took several cautious steps into Crowley’s bedroom for the ninth time that night, his socked feet slipping slightly on Crowley’s pristine wooden floor. Aziraphale paused at the same place he had the past eight times, a few feet from the foot of Crowley’s bed. The angel waited, wracked his brain for another solution, an alternative route, but his mind was cloudy. He couldn’t think properly and all the things he came up with were impractical. He’d already tried everything. The angel wrung his hands, staring down at the peacefully sleeping demon.

Crowley, in his true form, was a snake. Aziraphale had known this since they’d met, of course, but since he’d interacted with the human visage of his friend for 6,000 years it was somewhat easy to forget such things. Seeing Crowley sleep, however, had always been a small reminder of his friend’s natural state of being. Crowley tended to curl in on himself, so much so that Aziraphale was certain the demon must be uncomfortable, and cover his face with his arms or a pile of pillows. Wrapping up tightly and hiding his face, just as a snake did.

Aziraphale thought it was rather endearing, the way Crowley slept. He’d never told him that—opposite sides and all that. But they’d stopped the apocalypse six months ago, and Aziraphale was beginning to hope that Heaven and Hell might actually leave them alone for a while. Aziraphale thought he’d like to tell Crowley some time, how cute it was when he was all curled up. See him stutter and frown, hiding a blushing face while he denied the fact. Aziraphale smiled at the image, feeling rather grateful for the simple fact that he _could _tell Crowley. He hadn’t been able to for thousands of years and it left a lot of things unsaid.

Aziraphale shook his head to clear it, and stumbled slightly as a wave of dizziness overcame him. When the room stopped spinning, Aziraphale opened his eyes. That seemed bad.

Before he could talk himself out of it, as he had the previous eight times, Aziraphale spoke, shattering the peaceful silence, “Crowley?” Aziraphale held his breath, some part of him hoping Crowley would keep sleeping. No such luck.

The demon slowly uncurled from his crunched up state and took a sharp breath as he rolled into a sitting position. His yellow eyes blinked open, flitting around the room before falling on Aziraphale. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “Angel?”

“Hello Crowley,” Aziraphale gave the rumpled demon a soft smile.

“W-” Crowley paused, blinked, “What are you doing here?” Another pause. “What are you _wearing_?”

Aziraphale kept the smile on his face, although another spike of apprehension shot through his gut.

“Well,” Aziraphale stopped, considered his situation, considered where to start. He decided to ignore the comment on his wardrobe and focus on the first question. In his countless years of existence, the angel had found that it was usually best to start from the beginning. So he did just that.

“Do you recall the beginning?” Aziraphale asked. It was a silly question, he knew. Crowley’s raised eyebrow confirmed the sentiment. “I mean, getting sent to Earth,” Aziraphale clarified, “At the start of everything?”

“Yes. Yes, of course I remember. Why?” Crowley questioned, yellow eyes unwavering, staring into Aziraphale’s. The angel felt his face heat up. Crowley’s eyes really were quite beautiful. They held a certain softness there that Aziraphale hadn’t seen anywhere else. Aziraphale glanced at the ground. “Angel, are you alright?” Crowley’s soft, sleep roughed voice took on a note of worry.

“Oh, yes. I’m quite alright, my dear,” Aziraphale smiled to drive the point home. He glanced back to Crowley and knew it hadn’t worked. The open and genuine concern on the demon’s face sent a bolt of something unidentifiable through Aziraphale. They’d come so far together, breaking boundaries, forming new ones. Becoming comfortable with new things, new ideas. They could feel things now, openly, plainly, unrestricted. All these tiny gifts that Aziraphale was eternally grateful for had taken millennia to be possible, but the angel couldn’t bring himself to resent the wait. There would be millennia ahead to cherish them.

"Angel-” Crowley started, but Aziraphale held up a hand to stop him.

“I’m not injured, I’m not about to discorporate, and I’m trying to explain, now shush.” That seemed to better convince the demon, and a small, decidedly exasperated, smile graced his face as he raised his hands in surrender.

“I’m not sure what the situation was down there, but when I was discharged to Earth, they gave me some,” Aziraphale tilted his head, “advice, I suppose. Particularly concerning miracles and missions and the like.”

Crowley nodded, although Aziraphale knew it wasn’t necessary. Crowley always was so good at making him feel listened to. Even when the angel was rambling on about nothing at all. Aziraphale felt a tiny smile pull at the corners of his lips, throat feeling strangely tight. He coughed lightly to clear it and silently cursed Crowley for interrupting him again. Without speaking or intending to, of course. But still.

“They told us miracles would be different on Earth. That they would be difficult, or more difficult, I suppose. I was told of two way to handle it, but Gabriel requested I only use the first one.”

Crowley interrupted him, “So, wait. You’re drained by performing miracles?” Aziraphale nodded slightly, rather embarrassed but uncertain why. “I always thought that was just a demon thing. Some extra little punishment or something. Huh,” Crowley raised his eyebrows, shifting his eyes from Aziraphale for the first time since he’d woken up. He squinted slightly, as if thinking. “But, wait, hold on. You don’t sleep. Or, I guess you might and I’ve just never seen it, or you’ve never told me, or—”

“Sleep was the second option,” Aziraphale explained. “Gabriel didn’t want me to use it. He said it was a waste of time and much too similar to human behavior, especially since I could just go up to Heaven to recharge. Gabriel seemed to think it was more efficient that way, so I wasn’t to sleep.”

Crowley scoffed in that way Aziraphale knew meant the demon was upset with Heaven, but didn’t want to say anything as to not offend the angel. Not that Aziraphale would take much offense anymore, but the censorship had been appreciated for centuries. Aziraphale thought it would always give him the same happy jolt of “_Crowley cares” _for as long as the demon continued to do it.

Silence stretched over the room as Aziraphale waited for Crowley to put everything together as he so often did. He wrung his hands, begging the demon to comprehend, if only so he didn’t have to explain. But Crowley just stared at him with tired yellow eyes, as if waiting for Aziraphale to continue, perhaps growing somewhat irritated. The poor being did so treasure his sleep. Aziraphale felt a twinge of guilt and pressed on, giving Crowley something more to work with.

“And so, well, Heaven isn’t all that pleased with me at the moment,” the angel prompted. Still nothing but a raised eyebrow. “So, I can’t exactly pop up there for a quick recharge…” Aziraphale trailed off. The demon _had_ to see it now.

“Okay?” Crowley furrowed his eyebrows, clearly trying to put together what Aziraphale didn’t want to say. He was normally so nippy at it, Aziraphale had hoped he would get it by now. He must be quite tired if he wasn’t understanding. Aziraphale waited a moment longer. “What are you saying, angel?” Crowley’s voice softened, stowing the annoyance away just when Aziraphale needed because Crowley _cared_.

The angel reminded himself. Crowley cared. There was no need to hide this any longer. Crowley would help him. So then, why was his heart thundering in his chest? Why were his eyes burning? Why did he feel so small, so lost? Crowley would help him, as he always strived to. It would be alright. Breathe.

“I, uhm,” Aziraphale said, voice soft, small, _weak_. He cleared his throat, bolstered up as much pride as his divine being contained and closed his eyes.

“I never learned to sleep.”

Silence. Heart-wrenching silence.

“You what?”

Aziraphale felt something in him break. “I don’t know how to sleep, Crowley. And now I can’t go to Heaven and I can’t perform any more miracles, so I can’t help anyone anymore, and I’m so _tired,_ Crowley. I’m so tired, and I _feel_ so much more now, and I just want to feel normal again, and I’m exhausted Crowley, and I-” The angel paused, took a breath, tried to calm. Angels didn’t cry. “I don’t know how to sleep.”

Aziraphale didn’t look at Crowley, just stood there at the foot of his bed in a striped blue night gown he knew the demon was silently mocking. His face was red, his eyes burned, filled with liquid. He must look a mess to the ever elegant demon. Aziraphale was starting to regret ever coming to Crowley’s flat. The angel sniffed softly, rubbing his eyes to clear them. Exhaustion had always heightened Aziraphale’s emotional responses, but he’d rarely experienced this level of emotional discomfort. Then again, he’d never experienced this level of exhaustion either.

Aziraphale listened to Crowley stutter for a moment, as he did so often when he was caught off guard, “O- okay.” Aziraphale looked up from the floor. Crowley’s eyes were wide, some form of shock hidden in their golden depths. “Alright then. So—so, what do we do then?”

Aziraphale shook his head as his voice failed him. Water slid down his cheeks. Shrugging, he brushed it away. _Oh, for Heaven’s sake._ Crowley’s eyes softened to something akin to pity.

“Oh, angel,” His _voice. _

_“You can stay at my place. If you like”_

Aziraphale took a breath, then another. He closed his eyes and continued to breathe until his throat loosened.

“How long’s it been?” That voice, again. Closer, now. Aziraphale blinked open his eyes, Crowley had moved from the bed to stand in front of the angel. Aziraphale stared at Crowley in the delicate moonlight. His familiar face, etched in concern, hair sticking up at every angle, yellow eyes seeming to glow. He was _beautiful_.

“Angel?”

“Hm?”

“How long’s it been since you recharged?”

Aziraphale squinted, wrung his hands, tried to think. “It must have been, well no… It would have been—oh…” The angel froze, gentled his voice, “Not since the fire.” Aziraphale watched Crowley tense for a fraction of a second, then forcefully relax as he spoke.

“That was, what, five months ago? Six?” Crowley asked, as if he didn’t know.

“Six,” Aziraphale supplied, willing to go along with Crowley’s game, at least for now. He would approach the subject later, when it didn’t feel so fresh, when Crowley no longer woke up in the night screaming his name. But for now, they let it be.

“Six months. Have you been doing miracles this whole time?”

Aziraphale twisted his hands, one over the other, “I’ve slowed down recently. It’s gotten nearly impossible, if I’m being honest. But, well, I keep seeing people who need help, and well…”

“So yes? You’ve been consistently miracling things for six months with no recharge?”

Aziraphale looked down, spoke softly so Crowley might not hear him, a small smile on his face to diffuse the pain, “I’m afraid so.”

“Christ, angel. How are you even standing?” Crowley’s hands landed on Aziraphale’s arms, gently holding either side as if Aziraphale would crumple at a moment’s notice.

“Not sure,” The angel smiled, the light but steady weight on either arm was grounding, and very appreciated. Crowley had become more forward in these little touches since the End Times, and Aziraphale craved them, however unwilling he might be to seek them out. Angels didn’t need such things, a voice reminded him. It sounded awfully similar to Gabriel’s.

“What do you need angel?”

Aziraphale glanced at the floor between their feet, “Can you teach me?”

////////////////

Crowley blinked. Could he teach him? How would he go about teaching someone to sleep? It just sort of _happened_. Crowley dropped his hands from the angel’s sides, he hadn’t missed the way Aziraphale had flinched at the contact.

“That’s not really something you can teach, angel.” Crowley met the angel’s gaze.

“Oh. Well then,” Aziraphale’s face fell. “Sorry I bothered you, dear.”

Crowley winced, heart clenching, “Dammit, angel. I can try.”

Aziraphale looked up at him, giving him a tiny smile, “Really? Oh, thank you, Crowley.”

Crowley pressed a hand to Aziraphale’s shoulder, guiding him towards his bed, definitely not thinking about why Aziraphale somehow always got his way when the demon was involved. “Lie down,” Crowley instructed.

“Oh. No, Crowley, I could never—that’s _your_ bed. I can be on the floor, or—”

“No,” Crowley insisted, pushing the angel into a sitting position. “No, you need to learn on a proper bed. Lie back.”

Aziraphale obeyed, with his hands clasped awkwardly in front of him, his big blue eyes gazing up at Crowley like he had all the answers. Well _that_ wouldn’t do at all. Crowley looked away so as to avoid saying anything he might later regret. He had to go slow.

“You comfortable?” Crowley mumbled the question, reaching for his sunglasses on his nightstand. He felt bare without them, too exposed. Slipping the glasses onto his face, he glanced back at Aziraphale. A frown had formed on his face and his hands were still rigidly folded across his chest. Crowley laughed lightly, “You don’t look it.”

“Well, I don’t know what I’m doing! Might I remind you, I’ve never done this before!” Aziraphale pouted, tired eyes focusing on the lamp beside Crowley’s bed.

“You’ve never once laid down and tried? Not even once?”

“It wasn’t allowed, Crowley! But recently… Well, obviously I have. It just never _works_, so I must be doing something wrong.”

“Well, then. There’s not really a right way to sleep, angel,” Crowley smirked, which only deepened Aziraphale’s pout. Crowley relaxed slightly, miracling a chair into the space next to his bed and sitting down. This was familiar territory. He could handle a pouty Aziraphale. “What exactly have you tried already?”

“What haven’t I tried?” Aziraphale sighed, closing his eyes as if to think. He began listing different techniques or methods, most of which Crowley had heard of. They seemed to stem from human research or observation, for the most part. The ridiculous gown he was wearing came from surveillance of the humans from years ago, which really wasn’t a surprise. As disgusting as it was to the demon’s sensitive fashion taste, Crowley would be lying if he said the night gown wasn’t entirely endearing on the angel.

Most of the things Aziraphale mentioned were mostly logical. Crowley had seen humans practice similar behaviors throughout his lifetime; he’d even tried some of them himself. Some of them, however. Crowley couldn’t help but smile at the image of his angel attempting to do a headstand because he’d “read that it worked”.

As Aziraphale’s list grew longer, though, Crowley became concerned that he wouldn’t actually be able to help the angel. It seemed like Aziraphale had, in fact, tried almost everything. At least, everything that the humans had found might help. Knowing the angel, getting Crowley involved was probably a last resort, after everything else had failed.

It hurt a bit, to be the last line of defense. He would really rather be his angel’s go-to when something was wrong, but he knew that would take time. They’d just received their freedom a few months ago, and Aziraphale needed time to adjust to change. And that was fine, Crowley was willing to wait.

Aziraphale finally finished his listing and blinked expectantly up at Crowley, “I do believe that’s everything I’ve tried. I must have missed something, right?” Crowley fidgeted in his chair.

“Not sure what you’re expecting me to do for you here, angel. It seems like you’ve kind of covered everything,” Crowley admitted, after several seconds of attempting to come up with something more helpful to say. Aziraphale’s eyes fell from Crowley’s face, a hint of despair crossing his face before he covered it with a smile. Crowley’s chest tightened.

“That’s alright, my dear,” Aziraphale sat up slowly, as if the action was the most demanding thing he’d ever attempted, sad smile still plastered on his face like a mask. Panic swelled in Crowley’s gut. This wasn’t right. “Thank you, anyways, for trying. I’ll stop bothering you.”

Crowley couldn’t speak. His angel was about to leave, emotionally compromised and physically exhausted, and Crowley couldn’t think of a single thing to say. He stuttered for words, cursing his stalling mind. Aziraphale was starting to scoot off of Crowley’s bed when the demon’s brain finally comprehended that he should probably stop the angel from leaving. He placed his hand on Aziraphale’s chest and shoved him back into a laying position. The angel’s eyes widened. Crowley’s heart thrummed in his chest as he witnessed the tiniest flicker of hope reenter his friend’s eyes.

Crowley’s mind was reeling, trying to find something, anything, to say. Aziraphale’s bloodshot eyes stared up at him, begging him to do something. The angel had come to Crowley for help with his heart in hand, emotions off-kilter, courage diminishing. So God damn it, he needed to find a way to help him. He always took care of his angel. Always. _Do something, you useless demon._ _Say something. _Say _something._

“I could sing for you.”

Shit.

Aziraphale gasped slightly as Crowley’s face turned an ungodly shade of red. “I, I mean, you’ve already tried music, but, I mean. I used to... Warlock used to like it. So, I thought, well, maybe. It doesn’t hurt to try, but obviously I don’t have to. It’s fine, and it might not even work, I just thought, you know. Maybe,” Crowley rambled on, not looking at the tired angel, attempting to clear his face of emotion.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale’s voice was soft and small, but fond.

“Y- Yeah?” Crowley pulled his leg up onto the chair, throwing his arm over the back. He had to maintain a casual appearance; everything was fine.

“I would love nothing more.”

Crowley felt his entire being squeeze. He looked down at the angel, which in hindsight was probably a mistake. The angel’s blue eyes were focused entirely on him, and somehow Crowley knew Aziraphale was looking straight through his bullshit. The tiny,_ genuine_ smile on his face was enough for Crowley to move the entire United Kingdom to the moon, and damn it all to Hell, he was going to sing for his angel.

“Right. Okay, then,” Crowley coughed. Next order of business was what to sing. The first problem that arose was that Crowley only knew one lullaby. The second problem was that it was the one he’d sung to Warlock, the supposed Antichrist who was meant to grow up and destroy the Earth. So. That was a thing. “I’m afraid my knowledge of lullabies is somewhat limited, angel. I mostly just know the one.”

“That’s quite alright, my dear,” Aziraphale’s smile brightened into an encouragement. Crowley laughed softly. The angel would be amused by the song, if nothing else. Here went nothing.

Crowley started to sing.

////////////////

Aziraphale bolted upright. The last thing he remembered was Crowley’s beautiful, although somewhat gruesome, lullaby. It had been lovely, just lying there, listening to the demon’s voice echo throughout the bedroom. Aziraphale had felt relaxed for the first time in weeks. And, of course, as soon as he’d let his guard down something had happened.

Aziraphale frantically searched the dark room. How long had it been since then? Crowley wasn’t in the chair anymore. Aziraphale felt panic start to rise in his chest. Where was Crowley? What was going on? Why couldn’t he remember?

“Crowley?” Aziraphale called out, shifting his gaze to the other side of the room, though he couldn’t see much. He wrung his hands together, heart pounding, hoping beyond all hope that Heaven or Hell wasn’t responsible for this. “Crowley, dearest?”

A soft moan from the bed beside him drew Aziraphale’s attention there. Crowley was lying beside him, arms thrown over his face, curled up into a ball facing away from the angel. Oh, thank the Almighty. Aziraphale’s frantic breathing slowed. “Crowley?” Aziraphale shook the demon’s shoulder lightly as Crowley stirred from his slumber.

Yellow eyes glared at the angel from over Crowley’s shoulder, “What?”

“I don’t know what happened, Crowley. You were on the chair, and now you’re over here and asleep, and I don’t remember anything in between. Do you remember what happened? Do you know what’s going on?” Aziraphale watched the demon roll over to face him.

Crowley looked annoyed, “Seriously?”

Aziraphale nodded emphatically.

Crowley raised his eyebrows and scoffed, “You fell asleep, angel.”

Aziraphale blinked. Oh.

“_That_ was sleeping? I don’t remember it at all,” Aziraphale searched Crowley’s face for some form of trickery and found none. The demon just looked tired and annoyed. Possibly slightly amused.

“You’re not _meant_ to remember. That’s not how it works,” Crowley smirked up at him, propping himself up on his elbows so he was closer to Aziraphale’s level of sight. Definitely at least a little bit amused.

“Well you could have _told _me that,” Aziraphale crossed his arms as his heartbeat returned to normal. That had been quite frightening, but he supposed if Crowley said it was typical it must be true. Crowley rarely lied to him, at least as of late.

“I, apparently unrealistically, assumed you already knew,” Crowley was still smiling at him, probably trying to ruffle Aziraphale’s feathers. It was working, of course, but Aziraphale refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

“Well, fine,” Aziraphale prepared to stand up, head pounding, eyes strained. That was odd, Aziraphale had thought that would go away once he’d rested. “At least that dreadful business is over with. Thank you for your help, dear! I’ll be going, now.”

A hand on Aziraphale’s wrist stopped him from leaving. He glanced over at Crowley, who looked entirely confused.

“You’ve only slept 45 minutes, angel,” Crowley murmured. “You’re not nearly done, yet. It takes me about five hours to recharge, usually. But I never let myself get this bad, so probably closer to seven for you, love.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened, “Seven _hours_?”

“Lay back down,” Crowley instructed. Aziraphale slowly complied.

“Seven hours? _Seven?_” Aziraphale tried to wrap his head around losing an entire seven hour segment of time. He didn’t like the idea.

“Yes, angel, seven,” Crowley said, voice calm and comforting. Patient. “Close your eyes. Relax.”

Aziraphale obeyed because he wasn’t entirely sure what else he could do. Eyes closed, Aziraphale felt Crowley lie back down next to him. He hoped the demon would be able to fall back to sleep quickly. He did feel awfully guilty for disrupting the poor being’s rest. Again.

Aziraphale sighed softly and waited for sleep to take its disconcerting hold.

Twenty minutes later, Aziraphale was still awake. He opened his eyes and glanced over at Crowley, who was, somewhat surprisingly, simply looking at Aziraphale in the darkness.

“It’s not working, Crowley,” the angel explained, only a bit of a whine worming its way into his voice. He rolled onto his side, facing the demon. Crowley’s yellow eyes glinted in the moonlight, sunglasses returned to their place on the nightstand. Beautiful.

“Shhh, just be patient, angel. Relax.”

“I _am._”

“I know, angel. You’re doing amazingly well. Just keep trying.”

A hand reached up and rested itself on Aziraphale’s head. The angel exhaled softly as Crowley started combing his hand through his hair. Tiny touches, simple and sincere. Aziraphale stared at the demon in the darkness, faint blush across his face. The angel shifted closer, reveling in the feeling of Crowley’s hand brushing along his scalp.

“I can stop, if you’re uncomfortable,” Crowley’s voice was so soft, so vulnerable. Aziraphale thought his heart might break.

“Oh no, Crowley, please don’t stop,” Aziraphale murmured, a deep and all-encompassing warmth settling in the angel’s chest as the demon smiled.

“Alright.” Crowley continued.

Aziraphale allowed the rhythm of Crowley’s hand across his head to calm him, gazing into his demon’s eyes. He smiled softly. This moment, here with Crowley, was perfect. The gentle moonlight through the window, Crowley’s eyes focused on him, the weight of the demon’s hand, the peaceful quiet. Everything they’d been through, everything they would go through, was nothing but dust compared to this. Here, with him.

Aziraphale reached for Crowley’s other hand, which was resting beside the demon’s head. The angel heard his friend inhale as Aziraphale slowly wrapped his fingers around the demons. After a moment, Crowley moved, lacing his fingers more comfortably with the angel’s. His other hand still gently carded through Aziraphale’s hair.

“I’m right here, angel,” Crowley’s voice was barely a whisper, “I’ve got you.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes once more, breathing softly.

In and out.


End file.
